Stolen Memories
by Phanita
Summary: Martha is in an accident, resulting in a serious head trauma. When she wakes up in the hospital, she can only remember one person—Lionel Luthor.
1. Part One

A/N: This three-shot is pure Mionel goodness, though it does have a bit of Jonathan/Martha moments in store. It takes place during season two. Enjoy! :)

— Elisabeth

Disclaimer: I do not own Smallville

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The torrential rain was coming down in buckets. The windshield wipers were working frantically back-and-forth, but the road was still difficult to see through the torrent of water streaming down the window. It was dark, and the headlights that spilled across the road were blurred. Martha could barely make out the center line. A part of her grasped that driving in her distraught state was foolish, with her breath coming in gasps, heart racing, tears blurring her vision. But she was too discombobulated to think about caution. She couldn't even hear the warning bells that rang distantly in her mind.

 _Damn you, Jonathan_ , she thought, letting out an indignant huff of breath. _Damn you for not understanding when I need you the most . . ._

Martha's hands clenched on the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white. She refused to cry anymore, because her anger was stronger, dominating her urge to shed tears. She couldn't allow herself to give in when so much was at stake.

Like her pride.

Damn it all, she was alone, and she didn't want to be. But going back so soon to face the man who had upset her was only going to make matters worse. Martha vaguely remembered storming out of the farmhouse, keys in hand. She had ignored the rain that instantly soaked right through her blouse and jeans. In that moment, she had been blind to common sense, choosing instead to act impulsively on her anger.

Jonathan's stinging words of accusation still rang in her ears.

"Martha, I feel like you're forgetting the two most important people in your life," he said fiercely during their heated argument. It had ignited after the kitchen had been cleaned up ensuing dinner. "Each time Lionel Luthor calls you, you go to him without a second thought, even when you know that Clark and I need you more."

"Jonathan Kent," Martha snapped, shocked at his hurtful accusation. "I would have thought that you, of all people, would understand how important this job is to me. But you should also understand that I would never put Lionel Luthor before you or Clark."

Jonathan shook his head, looking disappointed. He turned abruptly to face the window above the kitchen sink. "Then explain last week, Martha." He glanced back at her. The look in his eyes was filled with an anguish that took Martha aback. "Tell me why you left me sitting at the restaurant, waiting for us to have some quality time alone together. You called me to tell me you wouldn't be able to make it because Lionel Luthor still required your assistance. That's putting your job before your family."

Martha opened her mouth to speak, but nothing would come out. She was hit with a mental blow to her stomach that left her feeling numb with pain. Tears burned the backs of her eyes.

"Mom . . . Dad? What's wrong?"

Clark was standing in the doorway, water dripping from his jacket and hair. He glanced between his parents, worry creasing his brow.

Martha didn't want her son to see her in her moment of weakness. He was facing his own troubles, and she didn't want to bring her's and Jonathan's as an added burden to his shoulders.

So she feigned a smile that felt weak and forced.

"Nothing, sweetheart."

Martha didn't remember much after that besides for grabbing the keys to the truck and storming out into the rain. She couldn't recall if anyone had followed her to proclaim a protest on her leaving, but that didn't seem to matter. She wasn't going home until she had sorted out her thoughts and calmed the storm inside her heart.

Unfortunately, she was far from ready to face Jonathan again. His hurtful words still made her heart throb painfully. When she imagined the expression of letdown on his face, it brought on her tears with such force her vision blurred with the intensity of it.

And she wasn't prepared for the deer that had decided to pick this importune moment to bound across the road.

Martha gasped. Her foot slammed on the break, but her shoes were slick with rainwater and slipped. She lost all control of the vehicle. It went careening to the side, sliding violently in the mud with uncontrollable velocity.

Then the drivers' side slammed into the trunk of a tree with a sickening crunch. The impact threw Martha with such force her head connected with the window, followed by a jolt of sickening pain.

Everything went black.

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Everything was so distant—the sounds, the faces, the voices. Martha moaned at the pain that licked at her body like the fires of Hell. She couldn't remember anything but this exact moment, and what she was taking in was too blurry to comprehend without her head spasming with the complexity of it.

There was light. It was blinding, so intense that it made her sick to the stomach. Someone slipped an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth. Another wrapped something around her arm. There was a tight pressure that built, then inflated like a balloon.

The voices around her sounded incoherent and jumbled up. Martha couldn't make out a thing, but she was too much in pain to care.

A siren blared, like a warning bell. Then the blackness fell over her again. She welcomed it with open arms.

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Jonathan and Clark raced into the hospital. Clark slipped on the slick floor in his haste, and Jonathan grabbed a fistful of his jacket to steady him. They approached the receptionist desk with building anxiety.

"My wife," Jonathan gasped, fumbling over his words. He dragged a hand over his face to wipe away the rivulets of rain water that stung his eyes. "She was admitted in . . . Martha Kent . . . "

The receptionist told them to wait a moment. She made a quick call, then informed them that Doctor Granger would be down shortly to inform them of Martha's condition. She motioned with a sweep of her hand for them to take a seat in the waiting room until then.

Jonathan sank down into a chair and dropped his face in his hands.

"God, this is all my fault," he muttered despondently.

Clark put a comforting hand on his father's trembling shoulder. "Dad, don't beat yourself up," he said. "Mom is going to be fine."

"You don't understand, son. If I would have kept my feelings about your mother's job to myself, your mother wouldn't have left, upset because . . . " Jonathan trailed off as his voice broke.

Clark didn't know what else to do to console his father. He folded his hands in his lap and waited anxiously for the doctor. He prayed that his mother was going to be just fine. She was a fighter, after all. Martha Kent could pull through anything.

Father and son waited ten long, agonizing minutes before Doctor Granger came to greet them. He was a distinguished looking man in his early fifties with hair peppered gray. He had a firm handshake, but his eyes were full of compassion.

"Mr. Kent, I presume," he said with a tired smile directed at Jonathan. "I'm Doctor Granger." He nodded at Clark, then glanced between father and son to include them both. "Mrs. Kent was in an accident. She suffered a traumatic concussion to her head, some minor bruising to her ribs and a few nasty cuts, but she's going to be fine."

Jonathan sighed in relief. "Thank God."

Doctor Granger clasped Clark on the shoulder in a fatherly manor. "Go on up and see her. She is currently asleep, but the drugs will be wearing off soon enough. I know she won't want to be alone when she wakes up."

"Thank you, Doc," Jonathan said sincerely. He shared a broad smile with Clark, and the two of them followed Doctor Granger to the recuperating ward of the hospital.

Father and son entered the room. Jonathan pulled up a chair next to Martha's bed, and careful not to snag the iv in her arm, he reached over to stroked her face.

"Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, feeling his heart clench painfully. He felt a stab of guilt follow at seeing the various cuts on her face. Butterfly bandages held the gash on her forehead together. "It's going to be alright."

Clark entwined his fingers with Martha's. He ran his thumb over the back of her hand, swallowing visibly.

"Hey, Mom," he murmured. "We're here now, okay?"

Martha stirred. Her eyes fluttered open. She suddenly looked confused, and her bewilderment only deepened when she glanced at Jonathan. Jonathan took her hand and smiled reassuringly.

"You're at the hospital, sweetheart," he explained gently. "You got into an accident. Do you remember?"

Martha shook her head. She suddenly looked alarmed and frightened.

"I don't remember anything," she gasped, yanking her hand from Jonathan's grasp. "I don't remember anything!" Her voice became high and hysterical. She looked wildly from Clark to Jonathan with widened eyes. "I don't know who you are. What are you doing here? Where is Lionel?"

Jonathan felt like he'd been hit a powerful blow. He stood up abruptly, nearly sending his chair tumbling to the floor.

"Clark, go get help," he said hoarsely.

Clark rushed from the room.

Martha's breaths became gasps as panic took a fierce hold of her. She scooted up against the headboard and hugged her knees to her chest. Her eyes were locked on Jonathan, distrust shining in the depths so clouded with confusion.

"Lionel. I want Lionel!" she cried. Jonathan stepped forward to take her into his arms, but she screamed. "Get away from me!"

Two nurses rushed in with Doctor Granger and Clark on their heels. They held a struggling Martha down while the doctor injected her with a sedative. Slowly, as the drug took its course, Martha stopped struggling. Her eyes closed and she sank limply into the bed.

Jonathan glanced brokenly from his wife to Doctor Granger. "Doctor, what's wrong with her?" he asked hoarsely.

Doctor Granger's lips thinned into a serious frown.

"I'm afraid she might be suffering from amnesia, but until she comes to and is calm, I'll have no way of confirming this diagnosis."

Jonathan pinched the bridge of his nose. "She was asking for Lionel Luthor," he said with a resentment that shook him with anger. The name tasted bitter on his tongue, like venom.

 _Damn the man to Hell. He's taken my wife from me yet again_ , he thought through the alarming fog of hatred clouding his mind.

"In a case like this, the only way Martha is going to be calm is if she sees a familiar face, which in her current state, is Mr. Luthor," Doctor Granger said. "I suggest we give him a call and have him be here when she wakes up." He eyed Jonathan wearily when the other man tensed. "If you'll permit it, of course," he added.

Clark looked from Martha to Jonathan, obviously torn about how things with his mother were turning out.

"Dad," he said, sighing in resignation. "I know this pains you, but we don't have any other options. Please. Do this for Mom, alright?"

Jonathan clasped Clark on the shoulder. "Alright, Son." He nodded to Doctor Granger. "Do what has to be done."

Half-an-hour later, Lex came in leading his unseeing father by the elbow. He helped him into a chair next to Martha's bed. Jonathan watched the older Luthor with a steely gaze full of contempt from behind the glass window.

Lex came out and joined them.

"I'm sorry my father had to be involved," he said sincerely, with a shake of his head. "I know how hard this must be for both of you, knowing Mrs. Kent only recalls one person—and that person being someone none of us can unequivocally trust."

Clark smiled feebly. "I just want Mom to get better," he said quietly.

Jonathan's lips thinned into a tight frown.

"I just don't understand," he said. He didn't have to explain further, as both Clark and Lex understood the meaning behind his words.

"I feel what you're going through, Mr. Kent, believe me," Lex said carefully, searching Jonathan's gaze. "If you'll allow me, I can get the best doctors involved. Let me help."

Jonathan held up a hand. "Please. Let's not go trough this again, Lex. Just let Doctor Granger handle Martha's care."

Lex nodded. "I understand."

The three men glanced back through the glass without another word spoken between them. All eyes were on Martha and Lionel.

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Martha felt the heavy weight of sleep fall slowly from her mind. She was disconcerted and befuddled, and everything seemed so dark and endless that she couldn't clear her mind. She could only remember so much before everything became a black abyss of endlessness without familiarity.

There was one person she could remember in the misty recesses of her mind, and that was Lionel Luthor. Thinking of him gave her a sense of comfort. Seeing his face in her thoughts brought a security to her that made her feel safe. There was no one else she wanted now but him.

Martha's vision came into focus. Her strange surroundings unsettled her. The throbbing pain in her head was almost unbearable, but it brought back a brief flash of memory.

There had been a deer. Rain was slashing down relentlessly, and she had barely the time to think before she hit the break. After that, she couldn't remember a thing, and that was when her head had slammed into the glass.

The question was, why had she even been driving so recklessly in the pouring rain in the first place?

But it hurt to search for the answers that didn't seem to be there.

Martha felt scared and alone. She wanted the one person she could remember in this blurry time of uncertainty.

"Lionel?"

"I'm here, Martha."

Martha sighed in relief at the sound of Lionel's soothing voice. She tilted her head sideways on the pillows to glance at him and make sure he was really there, and not a hallucination of her confused mind. She smiled even though the effort pained her.

"I'm glad you're here," she said quietly, reaching for his hand. She weaved her fingers through his. "I was afraid, Lionel. I don't remember anything."

Lionel smiled at her. "But you remember me, hmm?"

Martha squeezed his hand with the little strength she had in her sore muscles. "I do. Your face is the only clear memory I have."

"You have nothing to be concerned about now. I'm not going to leave you, Martha."

"Good."

An older man dressed in a lab coat came in, smiling tiredly. He drew up a chair and took a seat.

"Martha, how are you?" he asked as he checked her eyes with a small light.

"I feel like I've been hit by a train," Martha admitted. "As for my memory, I can't say I can recollect much."

"Except for Mr. Luthor here, right?"

Martha nodded.

"Well, you did hit your head pretty hard. It's not uncommon for one to loose their memory after a trauma like that."

"Will she be alright, Doctor?" Lionel asked.

"She's suffering from a traumatic case of amnesia," Doctor Granger answered, looking at Lionel. He glanced back at Martha. "Mrs. Kent, physically, you're fine, but mentally you're not remembering any of your past memories."

Martha swallowed. "Will they come back?" she asked nervously.

Doctor Granger sighed. "They could, and it could either take weeks or months depending on the extent of the internal damage done when you hit your head."

"Don't worry Martha," Lionel said soothingly, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. "We will get through this casualty. Until you regain your memories, you're safe with me."

The caress calmed Martha, and she relaxed. "I know. Thank you, Lionel." She smiled sleepily at him. Knowing he was finally here to keep her safe from the uncertainty that surrounded her was a soothing thought. She closed her eyes now, too tired to keep them open.

Martha was once more at the mercy of sleep.

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Doctor Granger exited Martha's room, a grim expression on his face.

"Doctor?" Jonathan stepped forward. "Is she alright?"

"Just as I thought," the doctor said, running splayed fingers through his thinning hair. "Your wife is suffering from a traumatic case of retrograde amnesia. Ironically, Lionel Luthor is the only person she can clearly recall."

Jonathan scowled and sent his silent resent with a glare shot in the direction of an unsuspecting Lionel Luthor. Martha Kent's husband was clearly aggrieved by the sharp turn the recent events had taken. Doctor Granger couldn't quite blame him.

"Will she get her memories back?" Clark asked anxiously.

Doctor Granger nodded. "Yes, though unfortunately, the process of remembering could take weeks. She has suffered from a trauma. It's going to take time for her brain to heal from the blow."

Jonathan exhaled a sharp breath. "What are we going to do until she begins to remember?" he asked hopelessly. "Judging by her earlier reactions, the only person she trusts is—"

"Me."

Jonathan whirled sharply to face Lionel, who had stepped out from Martha's room. He looked like he wanted to hurl his clenched fist in the other man's face.

"I can feel your ire, Mr. Kent," Lionel said, smiling humorlessly. "But I assure you that I'm going to do everything in my power to help Martha in her time of need."

"We don't need your help, Luthor," Jonathan bit out. "I want you to stay out of our family affairs."

"Oh, but ah, you're missing something crucial." Lionel took off his glasses and unseeingly gave Jonathan an intense look. "Martha trusts no one. She's in a vulnerable state, and for a reason that baffles us all, I'm the only person she can clearly remember."

"What are you saying, Dad?" Lex prompted.

"I'm saying that Martha has a place at the mansion for as long as it takes for her to recuperate and recover her lost memories."

Jonathan reacted on impulse. "The hell she won't!" he growled.

Clark placed a firm hand on his father's shoulder. "Dad, I know you're blaming yourself for what happened," he said quietly. "But the only way for Mom to get better is for her to be comfortable while she heals. We need to do whatever it takes to see that that happens."

Doctor Granger looked from father to son, admiring Clark's integrity to take charge and be the rational one in a difficult situation. Jonathan Kent obviously wasn't thinking clearly at the moment. He was so blinded by his distrust in Lionel Luthor—and his guilt for Martha's accident—that he was just as lost as his wife was.

"If I may add my piece," Doctor Granger spoke, gaining everyones' attention, "Clark is absolutely right. In my experience, a patient will heal quicker if he or she is feeling secure and comfortable."

Lionel stepped forward. "She will be safe with me," he promised.

"Dad and I will take good care of her," Lex added, smiling reassuringly at the Kents. "She'll be in excellent hands."

Jonathan's shoulders sank in defeat.

"Then its settled," Clark agreed. "We'll work together to see that Mom is comfortable, happy and safe. Dad and I will try our best to help her regain her lost memories." He looked intently at his father. "Right, Dad?"

Jonathan nodded faintly. "Right, son."

Doctor Granger beamed. "I'm sure Martha will make a speedy recovery," he predicted.

Jonathan glared hotly at Lionel.

Lionel smiled smugly at Jonathan.

And Lex and Clark glanced from both their fathers in concern, wondering how on God's earth the two men were going to get along without conjuring a World War Three before Martha had completely regained her memories.

The next few days were going to be long indeed.


	2. Part Two

A/N: Just as a warning, Martha might seem a little out of character, but that's only due to her memory loss.

Disclaimer: I do not own Smallville

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"Do you remember this one?" Clark asked, pointing to the photo of himself as a cherubic seven-year-old, who was sitting on the tractor in his father's lap. Both father and son wore smiles of laughter on their faces. It was a memory Clark could remember more clearly than the earlier stages of his life.

Mom was seated on the couch next to Clark in front of the fireplace that was in Lex's spacious office. A fire crackled, its light dancing on the rug, and its heat warming the room comfortably.

"I don't know," Mom muttered, frowning. She touched the photo with fingers that shook a little, like feeling the image could somehow bring back the memories that had been stolen from her mind. "I wish I could, Clark, believe me. But I can't seem to recollect any of these moments. Did I take them? The photos, I mean."

Clark sighed, trying to keep in perspective his mother's fragile condition. Still, he couldn't help but feel upset that she couldn't remember him.

"Give her a few days," Doctor Granger had said. "Piece by piece, her memories will start to come back. You just have to be patient and have a little faith."

This morning, Lionel had taken Martha to the mansion after she was discharged from the hospital. Mom seemed comfortable here, and had settled in too quickly for Clark's comfort. He had dropped by an hour ago with a few photo albums, hoping maybe his mother seeing the photos would help prompt her memory to return. So far, Mom was showing no signs that the photos were sparking any memories.

With a creased brow and an expression of concentration on her face, Mom flipped through the album again.

"You were an adorable little boy," she commented with a smile.

Clark laughed. "You used to tell me my big blue eyes could worm me out of any mischief I decided to cook up."

"Well, I can see why. Who could resist that sweet face of yours?"

Mom shut the book and slid it onto the coffee table with a dispirited sigh.

"I'm sorry," she said, clasping her hands in her lap. "I know this must be hard for you—for me, too." She glanced at him, her gaze softening. Clark wished he could hug her. He missed the warmth of her arms around him, and the familiar and subtle scent of her perfume. It was amazing how you took something for granted, until one day, it was gone.

"I'm sorry, too," Clark said softly. "I should have watched out for you, Mom." Then none of this would have happened, he added remorsefully to himself.

Mom placed her hand on top of his. Clark didn't miss the tentative hesitancy in her touch.

"Don't worry about me. Maybe tomorrow I might remember something. Until then, please don't blame yourself for this," Mom said. "Things happen. We just have to cope with them until we can heal."

The door opened, and Clark glanced over his shoulder. Lex peeked his head in, looking apologetic.

"Sorry if I'm interrupting anything," he said sincerely. "I just wanted to check on you two. Actually, Dad is driving me nuts." He looked inquisitively at Mom. "He wants to know if you've had luck recovering any of your memories."

Clark didn't miss Mom's sudden bright smile at the mention of Lionel's name. He didn't know how to feel about that except for maybe a little perturbed.

"No luck yet," Mom replied with a smile. "But maybe tomorrow. Tell Lionel thank you for his concern."

Lex shook his head. "I think you should tell him, Mrs. Kent. It would sound more sincere coming from you than me."

Clark glanced back at his mother, whose expression had buoyed into anticipation at talking to Lionel. She obviously preferred Lionel's company to everyone else's.

"Oh, I will."

"I'll send him in when you and Clark are finished." Lex left then, shutting the door securely behind him.

Clark allowed a frown to replace the smile on his face. "Mom," he said urgently, turning in his seat to capture her attention. "Believe me or not, but I don't think you should go trusting Lionel like this. You're so vulnerable, and I don't think he wants you to remember anything. He likes having you all to himself!"

Martha gave him a reproving look. "Don't be ridiculous, Clark. Lionel isn't like that." She tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. "He has my best interests at heart. I know him better than you think."

Clark wanted to groan and drop his face in his hands. He didn't think he was going to make any more progress with his mother today. She seemed to think Lionel Luthor was a saint, and until her memories started returning, Clark didn't think she was going to see the truth of things.

So he forced a smile, though it felt tight on his lips. "Alright, alright. Don't get all worked up, Mom."

Mom glanced away, focusing her gaze on the flickering flames in the fireplace. "I'm not," she said defensively. "I've just been through a lot, and now I would like to be alone, please."

Clark thought that was a polite way of telling him to leave. So he gathered up the photo albums and left the room before he could say anything else that would offend Mom. He thought Dad should come to see her now, thinking maybe that would do some good. But Dad had busied himself with chores after they returned home that morning. He was obviously warring with his guilt. And because of that, and his stubborn pride, he seemed hesitant of dropping in at the Luthor mansion to visit Mom.

Clark wished his father wouldn't be so obstinate. Mom needed Dad, and until Dad decided to swallow his pride, he wouldn't admit it. He knew it, though. Clark just thought it would take a firm nudge to get him to go in the right direction.

 _Better hurry up, Dad_ , Clark thought, _or Lionel will sweep Mom off her feet and you'll be left wondering why you didn't act sooner . . ._

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Lionel felt his way down the hall, eager to see Martha. He wished he could drop the disguise he was holding up so well—that he was blind—just so he could tell her how beautiful she looked today. It would be worth the consequences to see the radiant smile that lit up her face.

Lionel was feeling quite good about how the entire situation had turned in his favor. He couldn't forget the helpless expression on Jonathan Kent's face, knowing that Martha, miraculously in Lionel's opinion, remembered Lionel and not her own husband. It must have hit the other man hard.

But despite Lionel's satisfaction at having prevailed in gaining Martha's affections, he thought of her vulnerability. She was going through a time where everything was dark and full of uncertainty. Lionel wasn't going to, in any way, hurt her. It didn't matter how much he yearned to get closer to her in an intimate way—he refused to create a memory for her that would bring regret when she regained her lost memories back.

It was better to stay on safe ground.

So Lionel put on a cordial smile as he entered Lex's office. His gaze subtly searched out Martha, and he found her curled up on the couch, staring transfixed at the flickering flames in the fireplace. Her brow was creased as if she were deep in thought. Lionel thought her shoulders looked tense, and wondered what he could do or say to ease her anxiety.

"Martha? Are you in here?"

Martha jumped, startled. When she saw that it was him, a radiant smile lit up her features. Lionel thought she was a perfect replacement for the sun, which was currently absent because of the rain that continued to fall steadily outside.

"Oh, Lionel, hi," Martha murmured demurely. Lionel felt pleasure at seeing the blush that colored her cheeks a rosy pink. "I'm glad you came. Clark just left, and I . . . I don't want to be alone. Will you sit with me?"

Lionel couldn't refuse that invitation. "Of course, Martha. Having your lovely companionship will be the highlight of my day." He maneuvered his way carefully to her side and took a seat next to her. Despite his attempt to sit at the opposite end of the couch to leave room for decency, Martha scooted over and nestled into his side. Lionel caught a whiff of her intoxicating perfume, felt her warmth, and wondered how he was going to keep his sanity in check. Keeping his feelings—and hands—to himself was going to be extremely taxing . . .

"It's so dreary and cold outside," Martha muttered, resting her head on his shoulder. "But it's nice being here with you, Lionel. I feel safe and warm."

Lionel hesitated, but then rested his arm around her shoulders. She felt right nestled up against him. He smiled.

"I'm, ah, glad you feel that way, Martha. In your time of uncertainty while you regain your memories, I'm more than glad to be here for you as long as you need me."

Martha sighed in contentment. "What do you want to do now? As long as it's raining, we can't very well go out and take a stroll." She went quiet for a moment, and Lionel waited for her to speak again. He thought about stroking her hair, but refrained by clenching his hands at his lap.

"I'm going to read to you, Lionel," Martha decided suddenly. "It will be good for exercising my mind, and reading is an enjoyable activity."

Lionel would have agreed to anything she suggested just to make her happy. So he nodded, and Martha left his side, bounding up the steps to the library above. He listened intently while she padded among the shelves in search for a book to read him.

When Martha came back down, she presented him with an old copy of Jane Eyre. Lionel remembered that it used to be Lillian's favorite. His late wife had read it so many times that the cover was worn, and the edges of the pages yellowed with age. He thought Martha's choice was fitting, considering she probably wouldn't enjoy reading old mythologies about warfare and wrathful gods, which were the extent of what sat on the shelves in the library.

"One of the memories I can remember clearly is that my mother used to read me Jane Eyre," Martha told him, nestling next to him again. This time, Lionel didn't hesitate; he eagerly draped his arm comfortably around her shoulder, enjoying their close proximity.

"Jane Eyre is a sorrowful but sentimental tale," he said. "It's a true classic. I can't say I've had the pleasure of reading it, but, ah, I'm hoping that will change when you enlighten me."

Martha set the book on her lap. She opened it up, and as the rain pattered against the stain glass windows, and the fire crackled warmly in the hearth, her husky voice filled Lionel's mind with images of cold winter winds and nipped fingers and toes.

"I was glad of it," Martha read in an animated tone. "I never liked long walks, especially on chilly afternoons. Dreadful to me was coming home at twilight, with nipped fingers and toes, and a heart saddened by the chidings of Bessie, the nurse . . . "

Lionel closed his eyes as he listened. He hadn't meant to drift off, but he was feeling so warm and comfortable here on the couch, that he became drowsy. It was a nice feeling. He hadn't felt so relaxed in a long time, and being read to by Martha, with her nestled into his side, evoked those feelings within him.

Lionel didn't know how long he had been dozing. He was awoken by Lex, who had tapped him on the shoulder.

"Shh, Dad, it's me," Lex hissed. "Don't move. Mrs. Kent is asleep, and she looks peaceful, despite the fact that you two are cuddling like lovers."

Lionel groped for the book, found it forgotten on Martha's lap, and closed it. He placed it carefully on the coffee table.

"I'm trying to give Martha a sense of security, son," he said pointedly. "And if you're wondering, no, I did not force her to fall into my embrace. She came willingly."

Lex clasped him on the shoulder. "Tread carefully, Dad. That's my only advice to you."

Lionel heard Lex go to the bar and pour himself a drink. He sighed.

"You misconstrued my integrity, Lex," Lionel muttered. "If you think I'm going to use Martha's vulnerability against her, think again."

"Come on, Dad. I see how you adore Mrs. Kent, smiling foolishly whenever she's in the room, showering her with praise." Lex snorted knowingly. "And Mrs. Kent might deny every fraction of it, but I can see the spark between the two of you. You practically light a fuse when you're in the same room together."

Lionel scowled. "Lex, you're having delusions. And you're misreading the relationship I have with Martha Kent. It's strictly business, and right now, I'm ah . . . let's just say I was appointed Martha's guardian until she regains her memories back."

Lex's glass clinked on the counter. He strode over until he was standing in front of Lionel. Lionel watched subtly as his son studied him intently as if he was trying to believe his father's words, but couldn't quite trust him. Lionel normally wouldn't have been moved by his son's blatant judgement. But because it concerned Martha, he cared, damnit. His relationship with Lex was so strained that Lionel wasn't sure how he was going to plead his case so that Lex would see that his words were words of honor.

"What are you thinking, son?" Lionel asked softly.

Lex shifted on his feet and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his pants. "The Kents mean a lot to me," he said, just as quietly. "I don't want you to do anything that would make what little trust I have gained from Mr. Kent to vanish. He's already being sorely tested, with his wife trusting another man, and not him. Which, by the way, baffles me."

"I know. It baffles me, too, son."

"Well, it's certainly an eye-opener." Lex's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What exactly did you do to merit Mrs. Kent's unconditional trust?"

Lionel smiled at this. "If I knew that answer, I wouldn't be asking myself the same thing, Lex," he answered truthfully. "It's a mystery, and one in which will go unexplained. As long as Martha is content we shouldn't worry about the why or how. We should only be concerned with her immediate recovery."

Lex sighed and his eyes flickered to Martha's sleeping form. His gaze softened, and Lionel didn't miss the familiarity of adoration that briefly crossed Lex's features. It was the same look he used to give his mother as a child. Lillian had been the center of his universe, and when she died, Lex had withdrawn from the world for the longest time. It didn't come as a surprise to Lionel that Lex saw Martha as a motherly figure after losing his own mother at such a tender age.

"It's late," Lex finally said. "I had one of the spare bedrooms prepared for Mrs. Kent." He hesitated, but then spoke again. "It's the bedroom closest to yours, Dad. I thought Mrs. Kent would feel more secure knowing you were close by."

Lionel was moved by the little trust Lex had unknowingly bestowed in him. But rather than question him about it, he chose to accept it quietly.

Untangling himself from Martha, Lionel rose to his feet.

"Do you want me to wake her?" Lex whispered.

Lionel shook his head. "No. I'll carry her."

Lex hesitated. "Are you sure you can manage? Dad, in case you have forgotten, you're blind."

"Blind yes, but don't underestimate me, son." Lionel stooped down and scooped Martha up in his arms, bridal-style. He straightened. "Lead the way, Lex. I can navigate easily by sound."

"Alright."

Lex took off at a languid walk. Lionel followed. The halls in the mansion were quiet, and their footsteps echoed, filling in the vast silence. They didn't speak until they had reached the long stretch of hallway where the downstairs bedrooms were located.

"Careful, Dad," Lex muttered. "It's dark in here." As if suddenly realizing his mistake, he laughed. "Sorry. I had forgotten for a moment there that you couldn't see."

Lionel wasn't amused. Instead of replying, he let the remark slip. He carried Martha into the room and let Lex guide him by the elbow to the four-poster bed that sat in the middle. When Lionel set Martha down on the mattress, she stirred, but didn't wake. Lex grabbed the quilt that sat neatly folded at the foot of the bed and draped it over her.

"Is Martha comfortable?" Lionel asked.

"I hope," Lex replied. "But she looks content, so, yes, I think she's comfortable. Now let's go, Dad."

Lionel allowed his son to guide him back out by the elbow without protest, though if he'd had his way, he would have given Martha's forehead a kiss goodnight. She looked so peaceful in her sleep. But instead, he was being led away like a child who needed parental guidance.

"Lex, I can walk on my own, thank you," Lionel grumbled irritably.

Lex wouldn't let go of his elbow. "Stop dragging your feet, Dad. I know you wanted to linger. It's written all over your face, and not for a second am I leaving you alone with Mrs. Kent."

Lionel chuckled humorlessly. "You seem to have taken it into your hands to play chaperone."

"Yeah, well, I'm the only one here with enough sense at the moment to see that if I don't, something might happen that shouldn't."

Lionel sighed. "It's disconcerting that you don't trust me, son. I already promised you that I wouldn't do anything to hurt Martha."

Lex made a sound of exasperation in the back of his throat. "This has nothing to do with trust, Dad. Just try to look at the situation through my perspective and you'll understand what I'm trying to say."

They had stopped in front of Lionel's room, which was three doors down from Martha's. Lionel clasped Lex on the shoulder.

"I understand perfectly," he said pointedly. "Now if you'll leave me to catch up on some sleep, I'm tired, and would be grateful for the solitude."

Lex gave Lionel an intense look of warning, though he knew Lionel couldn't see it.

Lionel had to bite back a retort. He was indeed tired, and he was growing irritable by the minute by this tedious conversation.

"Goodnight, Lex."

Lex finally got the message. "Goodnight, Dad." He turned without another glance and headed down the dark hallway.

Lionel slipped into the bedroom and shut the door behind him.


	3. Part Three

A/N: This is the finale part of Stolen Memories. Enjoy! :)

Disclaimer: I do not own Smallville

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 _She wasn't prepared for the deer that had decided to pick this inopportune moment to bound across the road._

 _Martha gasped. Her foot slammed on the break, but her shoes were slick with rainwater and slipped. She lost all control of the vehicle. It went careening to the side, sliding violently in the mud with uncontrollable velocity. Then the drivers' side slammed into the trunk of a tree with a sickening crunch. The impact threw Martha with such force her head connected with the window . . ._

Martha bolted upward, chest heaving, heart racing a mile-a-minute. It took several moments of deep breathing to calm the quailing effects the dream had left in its wake. When her heart was beating at a normal pace once more, she drew up her knees to her chest and hugged them fiercely. Her shoulders were trembling. She knew, after closing her eyes and seeing the dream replay in her mind, that it was more than just a nightmare. It was too vivid. She had felt the swerve of the vehicle, heard the squeak from the soles of her shoes as they slipped off the break. Even the brief pain after her head had made an impact on the glass had felt real.

 _That should be a good sign,_ she thought. _I'm regaining my memories back, if gradually_.

Martha relaxed. She leaned over to switch on the lamp that sat on the bedside table, and a soft light illuminated the room. The alarm clock stated that it was past midnight. Still hovering on the edges of sleep, Martha rubbed her eyes in a futile attempt to clear her senses. She slid off the bed and located the overnight bag Clark had brought over this afternoon. It was sitting on the dresser. Inside, she pulled out a soft teeshirt and flannel pants to change into. Off her clothes went, falling to a pile on the floor. She slipped on the pajamas and padded on the cold floor back to the bed.

Martha thought it wouldn't be difficult to fall back to sleep. But after awhile of tossing and turning, she realized it was too quiet here in this unfamiliar room. Or perhaps she was afraid the nightmare would return.

She really didn't want to be alone, she decided. The Luthor mansion felt so vast and silent, and not even a creak from the old foundation could be heard. It was very unsettling.

Martha scrambled off the bed and tip-toed to the door. She slipped outside into the dark hallway and wondered which bedroom Lionel occupied. She knew he couldn't be far, because Lex had said something about their bedrooms being close.

The floor was cold despite the Persian runner that ran along the long stretch of hall. Martha's toes felt frozen. Goosebumps race up her arms, and she involuntarily shivered. She opened each door, peeking in, before locating Lionel's room.

"Lionel?" she whispered loudly, hesitating in the entrance. She heard the covers rustle.

"Martha? Is everything alright?" Lionel asked, voice hoarse from sleep.

"I can't sleep. It's too quiet."

Lionel patted the spot next to him on the bed, and Martha hurried over to crawl in besides him. The bed was warm, and his body heat drew her to him. She nestled into his side, draping her arm over his firm abdomen, and finding comfort at last.

"Martha, you're trembling," Lionel muttered.

"It's cold in here," Martha stated in a near whisper.

Lionel pulled up the comforter over them both. He tucked it tenderly around Martha. His gentleness tugged at her heart strings, and she sighed, realizing this must be the reason why she trusted him so much.

"I had a dream," she whispered. "It was the memory of my accident—the only bit I can really remember of last night. I was in a car, and a deer darted out. It was raining so hard that everything was slick and wet. I lost control of the vehicle, and everything went completely black. Then I can't remember anything else."

Martha wondered if Lionel realized he was stroking her arm. It was very comforting, and her eyes drooped sleepily as his touch lulled her shoulders into loosing their rigid tenseness.

"It's alright, Martha," Lionel said soothingly, pressing his lips to her hair. "Memories can be painful. But don't let that deter you from remembering, no matter what may come."

Martha closed her eyes. They were too heavy to keep open as sleep began to make its descent on her.

"Goodnight, Lionel," she whispered.

"Goodnight, Martha."

And sleep came easily then, falling over her like the comforting warmth of a thick quilt on a chilly night.

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Clark came down the steps the next morning at the farmhouse. It was an early Sunday morning . The sun had finally made an effort to break free after the dreary rain that had drenched Smallville for three long days. There was no point in wasting it by sleeping in, especially because Clark had plans for today. He hoped what he had in mind would help jog Mom's memory some more.

Dad was in the kitchen. His back was to Clark as he gazed transfixed out the window above the sink, a cup of coffee forgotten in his hand. It had gone cold. So had the man who held the cup, and his expression had hardened as if frozen by an icy wind.

Since Mom's accident he had withdrawn from the world. Yesterday, he had worked hard the entire day, coming in looking weary and haggard, as if he hadn't even paused to rest and wipe the sweat off his brow. His eyes looked completely dull. Clark thought the only way his father could prevail from the misery he was putting himself through was to go see Mom. But Clark wasn't going to bring up that tender subject again, because it would provoke an argument that was a losing battle he was getting tired of fighting.

"Morning, Dad," Clark greeted lightly, smiling. He grabbed a mug from the cabinet and poured himself a cup of still–hot coffee from the pot.

"Good morning, son," Dad said listlessly without turning.

"After I finish my chores I'm going over to see Mom. I'm sure if you tagged along, the sight of you might just trigger Mom's memory. How about it?"

Jonathan turned. Clark thought his father looked a mess. There was a days' growth of beard on his face, and dark circles lined his eyes like shadows of yesterday. He obviously hadn't slept well.

"I've got work to finish up," he said gruffly. "You go on without me, son. I don't think your mother wants to see me, anyway."

Clark set his mug down on the counter with an audible thunk. He fixed his father with a hard look. "You know, Dad, this is childish. And here I thought you were supposed to be the adult—the one I could look up to, the one to make the right decisions. But I was wrong, wasn't I?"

Jonathan's expression became surprised. "I—"

"No. No more excuses!" Clark was done with listening to them. "If you don't want to go see Mom, then fine. Let that stubborn pride of yours rule your life. But I'm not going to sulk around the farm and wait for Mom to magically regain her memories!"

With that, he spun on his heel and stormed out the back door. It slammed forcefully behind him with a loud clack. By the time he got to the barn he was so angry he wanted to plow his fist into one of the rafters.

But then he'd be like Dad: childish, and guided by his anger.

Clark sighed and took several deep breaths of cool morning air. It smelled fresh and clean from the aftermath of rain and the pure sunshine that filtered in through the window. Gradually, his heart slowed to a regular pace. He could finally breath again without seeing red.

Clark finished his chores with a clear conscience. After they were done, he thought of his plan, and went to the chicken coop. The girls were pecking at the ground, searching for scraps of feed they might have missed. Clark scooped up Penny in his arms. She didn't struggle or flap her wings in a frenzy like the others would do if handled. The old hen was past her laying years, but she was now more like a beloved family pet. Mom had raised this one by hand. Clark thought telling her the story of how Penny came to be apart of their family might jog a part of her memory.

Clark set Penny in a box lined with straw in the passenger seat of his truck. She clucked softly before settling down in the nest, ready for the short journey to the Luthor mansion.

Clark gave one last look of longing towards the house before getting into the drivers' side, starting the engine, and pulling out.

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Not for one minute was Lex going to leave Mrs. Kent alone with Dad. That morning, he trailed them like an over-protective father watching out for his teenaged daughter, though he was subtle about it. He didn't want to make Mrs. Kent uncomfortable.

Lex made an excuse about not wanting to miss out on the nice weather when Martha asked Lionel to go for a stroll with her, and was pleased when she beckoned for him to join them. Dad was obviously displeased about this. A fleeting frown of displeasure was directed in Lex's direction, but as soon as Martha spoke to him, the charming smile was back.

When Clark pulled up in his truck, Lex was leaning up against the trunk of an old oak tree, watching the two love-birds and trying not to smile. Martha was being ever-so-attentive with his blind father. They had, as the saying went, stopped to smell the roses that grew in abundance around the property. Martha picked one of the delicate blooms and set it in the palm of Lionel's hand. The man was smiling foolishly like there was nothing better he'd rather be doing than enjoying Mother Nature's bountiful beauty with a woman he so obviously admired. Lex thought that if Martha were to tell Dad to jump off a cliff, Lionel would probably oblige just to please her.

Clark sauntered over carrying a cardboard box. He had a troubled frown on his face as his gaze settled on his mother and Lionel, who were now smiling at each other like they were sharing a secret.

"Don't worry, Clark," Lex said as Clark neared. "I haven't taken my eyes off the pair since you left yesterday. If you want the truth, I'm starting to think maybe having kids isn't all sunshine and smiles."

Clark managed a small smile. "Why?" he asked, looking curious.

Lex chuckled. "Because parenting is hard work." He nodded in their parents' direction. "I've been following them all morning. Maybe now that you're here you can take over the duty of playing chaperone."

Lex finally took interest in the box Clark held. He was curious as to what was inside it. More pictures, maybe? Or perhaps momentous items of Mrs. Kent's to jog her memory. Whatever the box held, Lex was surprised when the sound of agitated clucking came from the open top.

Clark laughed at the expression on Lex's face. "This is Penny," he said, tilting the box so Lex could peer inside. A chicken blinked back at him with soulful eyes.

Lex looked up at Clark with a half smile. "I guess this is the part where you tell me Penny is going to help Mrs. Kent's memory return?"

"In a way," Clark replied simply.

Martha had just noticed Clark's arrival, because she tugged on Lionel's arm, and the two of them strolled over. Lionel was still smiling broadly. At this rate, Lex thought not even a bad bottle of armagnac would sour his father's jubilant mood. It was amazing what the presents of a woman could do to a man's sense of moral. Obviously, Dad was a completely different man when Mrs. Kent was around, and Lex didn't know rather to be amused by it or disturbed. He thought maybe a bit of both.

"Clark! I'm so glad you're here," Martha exclaimed, smiling warmly.

"Hi, Mom," Clark said, lifting a few fingers from the box to wave. "I brought something for you. I don't know if you remember her, but this is Penny."

Martha let go of Lionel's arm and came a bit closer to peer into the box. Everyone sort of held their breath. Clark was hoping for a miracle, Lex was wondering if the sight of an old family pet would actually have the desired effect on Mrs. Kent that Clark wanted, and Lionel was waiting patiently for Martha to come back to his side.

Martha gasped. A look of recognition lit up on her face, and she scooped Penny out of the box, hugging the chicken to her breast. The chicken nestled into her and clucked softly as if happy to be reunited with the person who so obviously loved her.

"Penny! Of course I remember her."

Clark looked hopeful. "Do you remember how Penny came into our family?" he asked eagerly. "It was a few years ago. We were hatching chickens in the incubator, and I . . . I kinda knocked it over. One egg was salvaged, and that was Penny. After she hatched you raised her so that she followed you around whenever you went out to do chores."

Martha kissed the chicken affectionately on the head. "Yes . . . I think I remember that. It's a bit blurry, but it's there all the same."

Lex couldn't help but be a little amused.

She remembers the chicken, but she can't even recognize her own son, he thought. Still, he supposed it was a start. Maybe by tonight Mrs. Kent would have regained half of her missing memories back.

"It looks like Penny missed you, Mom," Clark said happily. "I'm glad she could help you find one of those lost memories."

Martha sighed. "Me, too. It's slow going, and everything is still so dark, but I'm feeling more confident that I'll find my past again."

An hour later Clark went home with the chicken, and Lex, tired of trailing Mrs. Kent and Dad around like a shadow, decided he had other priorities to attend to. They were adults—they could handle being left alone for a couple of hours unattended. What was the worst that could happen between a blind man and a woman who was suffering from amnesia? So he left them in the gardens and went inside to his office so he could get some work done.

Meanwhile, Martha was feeling a sense of discontentment with herself. After having a serge of memory come rushing back when she saw Penny, she felt more lost than ever. Now she had a bit of her past, but the rest was so dark that she was reminded of wandering through a black abyss with nothing ahead but endless uncertainty. It didn't help that she had a nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right.

But seated next to Lionel on a bench, enjoying the balmy breeze that had swept through when the cold rain had left, Martha could find a bit of peace. It was a good feeling. When everything else was seeming so complicated, she could find simplicity sharing this quiet moment with Lionel.

"You seem concerned, Martha," Lionel said suddenly. "Are you feeling alright?"

Martha was always taken aback by Lionel's uncanny ability to feel the emotions around him and know exactly what others were feeling. She supposed he needed to be more in perspective of that because he couldn't use his sight to determine emotion by facial expression.

"I'm just frustrated, that's all," Martha replied, thinking it was the truth. She turned in her seat to face Lionel, and their knees brushed. "I feel that I'm wandering, but not really getting anywhere. It's maddening to know you're someone else. I can't even remember who that someone is supposed to be."

"You're Martha Kent: a beautiful, talented woman whom I'd admire profoundly. You are caring, compassionate, and good." Lionel reached for her hand and Martha gave it to him, liking how warm his fingers felt woven between hers.

"It doesn't matter if you don't remember who you really are," Lionel continued, "because you could never change, amnesia or not. You will always be the same Martha that I have come to care about."

Martha looked into those sightless grey eyes, speechless, wondering why Lionel made her feel this way: her heart humming when he looked at her, hands trembling when he touched her, and the attraction that seemed to spark so strongly between the two of them. It was tender moments like these that she forgot her determination to remember her past, which had been stolen from her like having the breath knocked from your lungs. It was astonishing what one little touch or smile could do to the heart.

"Lionel, I don't know how the Martha Kent I lost feels about you," Martha muttered, not breaking his gaze. "But I know how I feel right now, and I . . . I'm not sure what to do."

Lionel's expression grew serious. "You don't have to be sure about everything, Martha. You have to simply ask yourself what you really desire." He licked his lips thoughtfully. "Is it your blurry past, or is the promise of choosing a new path for the future that, ah, brings you such alarming uncertainty?"

Martha shook her head. "I don't know any more. I feel that I have several choices in front of me, and that's what makes this dilemma so hard."

Lionel hesitated, but then leaned forward so that their faces were inches apart. Martha felt her breath catch in her throat. She wondered for a wild moment if he was planning on kissing her, which set her heart racing.

"I'm not one for being sentimental or soft," he muttered huskily. "But follow what you're feeling in your heart, Martha. Your heart never lies."

Martha closed her eyes, knowing exactly what she wanted: for Lionel to kiss her. He was so close now that she could feel the warmth of his breath caressing her cheek. If it was wrong of her to feel this way, she didn't care. Nothing else seemed as important as this moment.

Lionel seemed to feel what she wanted, because he took her face in his hands and brushed his thumbs across her cheeks. Their foreheads touched.

"Martha, you don't know what you do to me," he said hoarsely. "The things I want to say, to do—it would be taking advantage of your vulnerability."

Martha wrapped her fingers around his wrist. "But you won't be, Lionel, because this is what I want," she muttered fervently.

Lionel's lips brushed over hers with a tentative tenderness. "What about tomorrow, hmm? Will you want it then, when your memory begins to slip its way back with alarming clarity, piece-by-piece, reminding you that you don't belong in a Luthor's arms . . . "

But Martha wasn't listening to him. She was only thinking of his touch, the way a fire was ignited inside her each times his lips brushed over her skin. It was distracting. All she could think about was what would happen if their lips finally met, and she was eager to explore these new sensations . . .

"Get the hell away from my wife!"

Martha screamed when Lionel was yanked away from her by a very–livid Jonathan Kent. Face red with rage, he threw his fist into Lionel's jaw, and was about to land another blow when Martha leapt to action.

"Stop it!" she cried, grabbing ahold of his arm.

"Martha, get back! This son-of-a-bitch had his hands on you!" Jonathan gave her a firm push, and Martha stumbled back, nearly falling into the bench. She watched in horror as Lionel returned Jonathan's blows with one of his own, though his fist only grazed Jonathan's jaw because of his inability to see.

Martha scrambled up and stumbled for the mansion for help. "Lex!" she screamed, frantic. She was afraid if someone didn't separate the men soon, one of them would be seriously injured—or worse, killed in a blind rage of jealousy.

Lex came bolting around the corner. When he saw the expression of horror on Martha's face, he found himself jumping to conclusions.

"What's wrong? Did my father—"

"Lex, you have to stop him," Martha said breathlessly, grabbing Lex's shoulders in a frantic hold and shaking him. She was on the edge of hysterics. "It's Jonathan. He's going to kill Lionel!"

Lex was already racing out the door. When he got to the gardens, he saw that Mr. Kent had Dad in a choking hold, with his arms wrapped around his neck. Lionel had stopped struggling. His nose was bloody and there was a nasty cut above his eye. He didn't seem to be the least bit of concerned that his life was in the hands of a man whose eyes had gone wild with furry.

"Mr. Kent, what the hell are you doing?" Lex called. He didn't know why, but he was suddenly fearing for his father's life. Maybe it was because there was so much left unsaid between them—and the deep rift that hadn't been mended—that he couldn't bear the thought of losing his father like this.

Lex suddenly realized how foolish his hasty conclusions were. This was Jonathan Kent that had his father in a vice-grip—not a cold-blooded killer.

But the look in Jonathan's eyes was chilling.

"Lex, you stay out of this," Jonathan growled, his grip tightening. Lionel's expression contorted into one of pain. "This is between me—and Lionel Luthor."

"Jonathan, you don't have to do this," Martha cried. As she tried to rush forward, Lex caught her and held her back. He wasn't sure what Mr. Kent was capable of, and didn't want Mrs. Kent in the middle of his blind rage.

"Martha, I'm sorry I couldn't have come sooner," Jonathan said. His voice broke with regret. "Because now, I feel like he's taken you away from me."

Lex was confused. "What are you talking about?"

Jonathan jerked Lionel back. "You tell him, Luthor. Tell him how you planned all this so you could take Martha away from me once she was vulnerable!"

Lionel's expression showed his sudden discomfiture. He managed a dry laugh, though it sounded choked. "You think I'm responsible for Martha's amnesia? That's a nonsensical accusation, isn't it?"

Lex glanced from his father to Mr. Kent, wondering who was telling the truth. It wasn't hard to decide.

Jonathan was so blinded by his hatred for Lionel that he wasn't thinking rationally. And Dad was suddenly looking grim as if he realized how dire the situation was.

Lex swallowed. Martha was trembling in his arms, and all he could do was hold her and hope he could talk some sense into Mr. Kent before the man did something he would regret later.

"Let him go, Mr. Kent," Lex said calmly. "We can settle this civilly. There is no need for things to get violent. Alright?"

Jonathan glanced at Martha with a pain-filled gaze of remorse. "Sweetheart, I love you," he choked out. "I came by to see if I could prompt your memory, so you could come home, and . . . " He closed his eyes. "Please don't tell me I've lost you. This man isn't worth everything good and wonderful that you are."

Martha's shoulders shuddered. "You don't understand," she bit out. "If you love me as you say you do, then why didn't you come? Clark came. Why didn't you?"

Jonathan clenched his jaw. "Because I'm a fool, damnit. I'm a fool, and I don't deserve you, either. But I love you."

"Then let Lionel go."

Jonathan sighed in resignation. He released his grip, and Lionel fell to his knees, sputtering for breath. Martha pulled out of Lex's arms to go to him.

"Lionel, are you alright?" she cried, pushing back strands of his hair from the cut above his eye. Her hands were tender and careful, though they trembled.

"I will be," Lionel said, rubbing his neck with a wince. "Believe me, I've gone through much worse."

Martha suddenly felt drained as if all her energy had been sapped from her. She sat back and pressed her fingers to her temples. Her vision had gone blurry, her head spinning, and with it came nausea. She felt like she was going to be sick.

"Oh, God," Martha moaned, squeezing her eyes shut. Suddenly, It was as if she were reliving the accident. She could see the deer, hear the rain pelting the windshield, feel her body jerk when her foot groped wildly for the break.

But then her head collided with the windshield.

Martha felt the world go black.

"Martha!" Jonathan exclaimed, falling to his knees next to his wife. He cradled her in his arms, touching her face with trembling fingers, smoothing back her hair. His heart was pounding in his chest. A horrible knot had formed in his gut.

"I'll call an ambulance," Lex said, already digging out his cellphone from his pocket.

Lionel could do nothing back stand back and watch, wishing wistfully that it was him cradling Martha in his arms.

The ambulance arrived half-an-hour later. As the paramedics loaded Martha's unconscious form into the back, Jonathan jumped in after them. After foolishly abandoning her once he wasn't going to leave her again.

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Martha awoke slowly. It was as if she were coming out of a dream, something so real she couldn't comprehend if it had been a reality, or only her mind playing tricks.

She thought her head would be throbbing. After hitting it in the accident, she couldn't expect anything less. But when she opened her eyes, she felt calm and relaxed. There was no pain—just that mystified feeling that followed after waking up from a strange dream.

Martha sat up a bit. The room was dark, and she knew she was in a hospital room by the soft beeping sound that emitted from the heart monitor. This didn't come as a surprise. After the accident, she didn't expect she would be anywhere else.

She wasn't alone. Jonathan was seated besides her, slumped in a chair, his breathing deep as he slept. Martha smiled softly. She remembered their fight, but it didn't seem to matter now. He was here with her. Just his presents brought comfort.

"Mom?"

Martha felt a burgeoning elation at hearing Clark's voice. A mother's joy, she thought, turning to smile at her son. Clark sat in another chair, but stood up and hurried over to the bed.

"Hi, sweetie," Martha muttered, reaching passed the various tubes attached to her to stroke back the wayward hair from his eyes. "I hope I didn't scare you. I left in an angry haze, and look where that got me."

Clark looked bemused, like something she had said had confused him. "Mom, that was almost two days ago," he said quietly. "Do you not remember?"

Martha frowned. "I was out that long?"

Now Clark looked worried. "What exactly do you remember?"

"Well, I had that argument with your father. It was raining that night. I took off in the truck, and a deer jumped out, but that's all I remember before everything went black." By the time Martha finished her explanation, Clark's brow had furrowed in a contrast of thoughtfulness and concern.

"So," he said, "you don't remember waking up and not remembering who you were? Not even the part where you wouldn't trust any of us but Lionel Luthor?"

Martha smiled, recalling the strange dream she had. What made it strange was the intimacy between her and Lionel, and the kiss they had almost shared before Jonathan yanked him away from her.

"It was just a dream," Martha told Clark, patting his hand in reassurance. "Now you and your father are here, and you two are all I need."

Clark sighed and offered her a tired smile. "I'm just glad you're all right. Do you want me to go get Doctor Granger?" he asked.

Martha nodded. "Yes, he should know I'm awake. I'll wake your father while you're gone."

Clark got up and left the room.

Martha took Jonathan's hand in hers. She felt her heart warm with love, thinking he looked so untroubled and content in his sleep. She hated to wake him, but she needed to make things right between them.

"Jonathan?" Martha murmured, shaking his hand. "Jonathan, wake up."

Jonathan startled awake. He took several wild glances around the room before he realized Martha was sitting up in bed, smiling at him.

"Martha? Are you . . . "

"I'm fine. And I'm so sorry." Martha squeezed his hand. "I shouldn't have left like I did. It was irrational, and I know I really scared you and Clark."

Jonathan swallowed visibly. "So you remember me?" he asked.

Martha laughed. "Of course I do, sweetheart. Why would I not?"

"You hit your head pretty hard. But that doesn't matter right now, because you're fine, and I'm a complete fool." Jonathan took her hand and kissed it. "I'm so sorry, Martha. It's my fault you're lying here in this bed. I shouldn't have gotten angry at you, and—"

Martha placed a finger on his lips. "Shh. That's behind us now."

Jonathan smiled under her finger. "I just want to say . . . I love you."

"I love you too, Jonathan."

The door opened, and Doctor Granger entered with Clark close on his heels. He stopped at the foot of the bed and smiled down at Martha.

"Are you feeling alright, Mrs. Kent?" he asked.

"As well as ever," Martha replied.

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Lionel threw back another shot of armagnac. The burn of the brandy going down his throat felt good, and it washed away the bitterness and the sour taste of disappointment.

But no matter how much he thought to drown his sorrows, no amount of alcohol would eradicate the sweet memory of having Martha in his arms. Her warmth and her goodness had washed over him like holy water. She had trusted him unconditionally, and her faith in him had given light to the darkness that constantly surrounded him.

Lionel closed his eyes. He couldn't block out the pain of losing Martha, but he could accept it. Feeling the heartache was better than being numb with the regret of not having experienced Martha's love at all.

What was that saying? Ah, yes. It was better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. Lionel wanted to laugh bitterly at the sentimentality of those words. In this particular moment, he now realized why he so often pushed the existence of love from his life. Love hurt. It could be sweet at first, but in a sudden twist it could be like a knife being plunged into your heart.

Lionel set his glass aside with a thunk and settled back in the chair with a sigh. If he said he had a heart of steel, he'd be lying. Right now, his heart traitorously longed for Martha Kent, who he couldn't have, because when it came to his happiness, fate seemed to work against him.

Lionel clenched his fist. He hated this feeling of weakness. He hated how he wanted to drown his sorrows, making him even more unsteady and vulnerable. It wasn't him. He had to show no mercy to those sentimental feelings that continued to war inside him.

Lionel heard someone walk into the room. He clenched his jaw. He didn't care much for company at the moment.

"Lex, if you're coming in to lecture me on the consequences of my actions, I'm not in the mood," he said irritably. "Please leave me in peace."

"Does that invitation extend to me?"

Lionel's heart did a traitorous leap. "Martha!" he exclaimed, pleasantly surprised by her visit. He smiled. "To what do I owe this pleasure of your company?"

Martha came over and sat down next to him. She folded her hands on her lap, and Lionel noted the uncertainty that creased her brow. He had heard from Lex that she regained her memories back, and wondered if she still had any recollection of the last few days and their intimate moments together.

"I work for you, remember?" Martha reminded him, smiling.

"Of course I remember. I understand you have been recuperating in the hospital, but ah, I'm glad you're back now."

"That's what I wanted to talk about—these last few days." Martha chewed on her lower lip, something Lionel knew she did when she was feeling nervous.

"Lionel, Clark told me what happened. Apparently, I hit my head pretty hard in the accident. He told me I could only remember you." Martha paused to search his gaze. Lionel kept his expression pleasant, hoping to put her at ease.

Martha continued.

"That part baffles me, really. I just wanted to know your part of the story so I can put more of the pieces together. Clark and my husband aren't telling me much."

"They mean well," Lionel said indignantly.

Martha sighed and looked down at her lap. "I know. But I think it's important that I know everything."

Lionel hesitated, wondering how much he should tell her. It was a difficult decision to make, because right now he had her back, and he didn't want to scare her away by retelling the momentous events of the last few days.

"Martha . . . " Lionel turned in his seat to face her, wanting badly to hold her hand in his. The look on her face, so full of hope that he might shed some light on the uncertainty of yesterday, tugged at his heart. "To lie to you would be exceedingly difficult for me, but in the same instant, I think it's better that things remain how they stand now. I can't begin to imagine how much knowing—what transpired in these past days—would put a strain on our relationship, and I value your friendship too much."

Martha's lips curved up in a smile. "Lionel, you just made me very curious. But I value are friendship, too. If you don't want to tell me, I think I should respect your reasons."

Lionel reached for her hand. He was glad when Martha didn't pull away from his touch.

"There's one thing you should understand," he said. "You trusted me. It was enough to make a man believe in his worth again. Thank you, Martha."

Martha's gaze softened. "I'm sorry, Lionel. I know I didn't trust you before. It's just . . . " She trailed off, looking uneasy and at loss for words.

"Believe me, I understand. You don't have to go any further."

"Thank you."

The moment was broken when Martha pulled her hand from his and stood. She smoothed out her skirt to remove the wrinkles and smiled.

"I'm going to go get those papers you wanted to go over last Thursday," she told him. Lionel heard the clack of her heels on the floor. When she reached the door, he spoke to stop her.

"Martha?"

Martha paused, resting her palm flat on the door when she turned to look at him. "Hmm?"

Lionel smiled. "I didn't thank you for enlightening me with the tale of Jane Eyre. It was a pleasure listening to you read the other night."

Martha's mouth parted in shock. She gave Lionel a funny look, and Lionel almost chuckled.

"I thought I should share that little piece of memory that, ah, slipped your mind."

Martha finally recovered. "I'll be right back," she said, sounding flustered. She quickly left, shutting the door behind her with an audible click.

Lionel chuckled.

"Don't worry, our secret is safe with me."


End file.
